


the way you look tonight

by naeildo



Series: amorphous experiments [2]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naeildo/pseuds/naeildo
Summary: Sana, Momo, and a helpful thunderstorm.
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana
Series: amorphous experiments [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688983
Comments: 8
Kudos: 137





	the way you look tonight

**Author's Note:**

> some [mood music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mx3SPsH9AMQ) if you so wish

Momo awakes to a bleary half-darkness. 

Sometime during her supposed 10-minute long mid-afternoon nap which, it seems, had turned into several hours, it has started to storm outside. There’s a streak of lightning that slices through the sky, stuttering through the bars of her window. 

Then the thunder claps, and Momo sits up with a start. An invisible string, long and anxious, pulls her to stumble out of bed. 

It’s not a long walk to Sana’s room, but she’s - worried for Sana, that she hadn't slipped into bed with Momo like the last evening a week ago, hands wrapped around Momo’s waist. Sana was trembling, then, and Momo had pressed down carefully on her shaking fingers until her breathing calmed. Until Sana could let out a laugh, small and gentle, into the crook of Momo’s neck, her cold toes pressing into Momo’s calves like an apology. Sana was so brave with so many things, from returning the wrong food orders for Momo and holding her hand across the high bridge, but she was afraid of thunder. And Momo found herself feeling a little elated, however selfishly, that the monsoon season had descended upon them. That she was given the chance to protect her in return. 

Still, Momo’s bed was empty when she woke up, and Sana’s keys are hanging from the rack, which means she’s still home, which means she hadn’t sought Momo out, and… It’s all so self important, Momo thinks. That she presumed to be the only comfort Sana has. 

When Momo gets to the other side of the apartment, Sana’s door is already half-open, and Momo can see some part of her through the crack, her knees curled up to her chest, feet tucked nearly under the ends of the duvet.

“Sa-tan?” Momo calls, but Sana doesn’t seem to hear her, so Momo pushes the door open a little wider. Sana startles at the movement, the half-smile she has when she’s distracted coming onto her face. She’s wearing earphones Momo hasn’t seen before, oversized and bulky on her ears. When she sees Momo, she takes them off, placing them on the side of her mattress before gathering up her duvet.

“Momorin,” Sana exclaims happily, and Momo doesn’t want to tell her to stay in bed, so she doesn’t, letting Sana pad forward lazily to stand before her in her sleep shirt and shorts. “I was starting to think you would never wake up,” Sana says, smile fond, but she doesn’t move to hug Momo like she usually does. 

Momo paws awkwardly at the back of her head. “Practice was brutal today,” Momo says, finally, and watches Sana’s eyes soften. Sana reaches out, then, to card careful fingers through Momo’s hair, the pads of her fingers leaving warm spots on Momo’s cheeks. Momo had cut her hair in a fit of frustration over her upcoming dance evaluation, and Sana had become even touchier, if possible, after that, ruffling Momo’s hair at random while she was eating at the dinner table or doing work on the couch. 

"You should have slept until dinner. I would've woken you."

Momo isn't blind to the fact that there's been something growing between them recently, like flowers through the earth, some kind of comfortable anxiety that makes Momo look away when Sana’s stared at her for too long. But Momo never knows what to make of it, so she tends to just - say nothing. Finishes her food, and lets Sana bump her out from in front of the kitchen sink, insistent on washing the dishes for them both.

“Is there -” Sana says, cocking her head a little, and Momo realizes that she’s done it again - gotten lost staring at Sana’s face. “Do you need something?”

“Um,” Momo says. Laughs awkwardly. “Is that uh -” she points at the new headphones on Sana’s bed. “Is that new?”

“Oh,” Sana says, her eyes widening in that way that Momo has come to recognize as polite surprise, and something sours helplessly in her chest. “Noise-cancelling,” Sana explains, and Momo resists the urge to frown.

“I didn’t know you were an audiophile,” Momo says, and Sana laughs a little, her cheeks turning a bright pink. Her hand finds its way to Momo’s wrist, as if she can’t quite help it.

“I should have bought it a long time ago, really” Sana says. “It’s not like thunderstorms are new, and I had to wake you up, last week, so -”

“Oh,” Momo says, without thinking. “No.”

Sana blinks. “No?”

Momo bites the inside of her cheek. “You didn’t have to,” Momo says. “Buy it, I mean.” 

“I couldn’t keep crawling into your bed, Momorin,” Sana says, smiling a little apologetically. And Momo should say something comforting, like _I don’t mind,_ and _it’s fine,_ but instead she just stares at Sana, the curve of her smile, and her frizzy hair that balloons unruly over her head because she’s just bathed. Momo thinks she doesn’t really know what to say besides _I want you to. I want you._

Another peal of thunder shakes through the apartment, and Sana visibly flinches. She doesn’t shout, not like the first time last week before she came to Momo’s room, but Momo still feels it severely, the desire to reach out, to ease the tension in Sana’s shoulders. To wrap her arms around Sana. It’s strange, all of this - that Sana is always the first one reaching for her hand. That Momo feels awkward letting Sana have it - her affection, unbidden. Does it always have to be like this?

“My father used to dance with me,” Momo says, finally, because the silence has started to grow and her mind latches on to the nearest available thought, “when I was afraid of thunderstorms.” 

Sana’s eyes widen in confusion before she lets out a laugh, and Momo delights in it, the way Sana relaxes, her amusement pressing the anxiety away. “You never told me this was why you wanted to dance.”

Momo shakes her head, and dares - enough, with a tentative hand, to pull Sana out into the living room, Sana’s door hitting the wall on the way out. 

There’s just enough space between the furniture to dance, so she puts a careful hand on Sana’s wrist and brings it to her waist.

“He was a horrible dancer,” Momo says, smiling, and Sana’s smile that calls after hers is like the sun. “Poor form and no rhythm.” Momo reaches for Sana’s other hand, and places it on the other side of her waist. “For starters, one of my hands was supposed to be on his shoulder.”

Sana laughs into her shoulder, hands steady on Momo’s waist. “So you’re teaching me bad form.”

“I’m sharing my secret thunderstorm remedy,” Momo corrects, even as she feels the heat rise to her cheeks at the way Sana laughs again, bright and unrestrained. "So I would appreciate some gratefulness."

“Right,” Sana says, softly, a half-laugh in her lungs, and Momo lets the sound of the rain on the windows blanket them slowly. Surely. Sana’s finger taps lightly at Momo’s waist, as if she’s asking a question. “What’s next, oh learned one?”

“Well, we move, obviously,” Momo says, putting on a voice that makes Sana smile again. She doesn’t know what it is about Sana that makes her say these silly things. Another crack of thunder rushes through, then, and Sana’s fingers tighten. But her smile is real, still, even if it trembles, and Momo really, really wants to kiss her. Instead, she settles her hand on Sana’s waist too, so they’re standing close enough that Momo could press her cheek against Sana’s.

“I feel like we need some music,” Sana breathes, and Momo can feel her breath, soft and sure, brush across her cheek. 

“Oh,” Momo says, “my father only ever played English songs. I can’t remember -”

Sana does it, then, presses her left cheek against Momo’s, and Momo loses her train of thought.

“You can’t even remember Japanese lyrics,” Sana points out, and Momo lets out a huff. 

“Neither can you!”

“Will you teach me to dance or not?” Sana asks, and it’s playful enough that Momo doesn’t tense up. She never does, with Sana.

“Right foot back first, and then left,” Momo instructs, lightly, and feels Sana nod against her.

Momo starts to hum, because she can remember that, at least, even if she can’t quite carry a tune, and Sana starts to smile, stepping back along with her. 

“To the right,” Momo urges, softly, “then forward.”

The rhythm they work up is easy, even though Momo starts forgetting sections of the melody, even as Sana starts to giggle into her chest. Everything with Sana is easy, and bright, and makes flowers grow in Momo’s chest, and Sana is so pretty like this, damp hair falling to her shoulders, her eyes pressing closed to the sound of the rain. To the sound of Momo’s humming, drifting in and out of tune.

Sana doesn’t react, this time, when the thunder comes, just sways along clumsily with Momo, still, the backs of Momo’s knees bumping up against the couch cushions. 

“I think it’s working,” Momo offers, breaking the hum, and Sana laughs. Her eyelashes flutter soft against Momo’s cheek. 

"I think so too," Sana says, voice soft. She's smiling.

Then, before Momo can react, Sana cranes her neck up and presses one kiss, quick and gentle, to the slope of Momo’s nose. It’s not the first time she’s done it, but there’s something about the quiet of the evening, about her hands on Momo’s waist, that makes heat flare all the way up to her ears, that makes Momo brave enough to ask:

“Can I?” She says, the flat of her palm finding the curve of Sana’s jaw. 

When Sana looks up, her eyes are bright with something that Momo can’t begin to name. Doesn’t want to, maybe, so she can just hold it in her hands. Then -

Their noses bump, and Sana’s lips are soft and only barely-there, and Momo thinks she might have dreamed it when Sana pulls away.

“That was a little clumsy,” Sana breathes, laughing, her cheeks a soft pink. 

“Guess we’ll need a lot of practice,” Momo says, quietly, when the thunder has faded. When all that's left is rain, and Sana’s laugh, drifting through the room, and Sana’s hands, gentle and constant on her cheeks. The first steps in a long, endless dance.

Momo just wants to kiss her again. So she does, slowly this time, chasing the rhythm of Sana's heart. 


End file.
